Guardians.
We do not relax. We endure.
And still, I crave the heat of connection.
I hate that about myself.
Because fire is misunderstood.
Yes, it destroys.
Yes, it consumes.
But destruction is sometimes the only path to growth.
Old forests must burn before new roots take hold.
Fallow fields must be scorched before they can be reborn.
Fire is not just rage—it is renewal.
I am necessary.
But necessary things are often hated.
I’ve made peace with my solitude. I’ve learned how to rule from inside it.
Until Alaric cheated the Fates.
Until Kael found balance in the arms of his viyella.
Until I saw that Jules did not break beneath illusion—she burned through it. And Phoebe? She accepted her place at her viyen’s side without question.
And I—I have people dying in my tunnels.
The Ember Vein must be mined.
Only fire-bound Demons—my people—can withstand the heat to harvest it.
They give their blood, their lives, their breath for the realm.
And the SoulTakers know this.
That’s why they come here.
Why they burrow like rats and shatter our supports.
They cannot mine The Ember Vein. So they steal from it.
They sabotage. They slaughter.
Every strike leaves another scar carved across my land.
I will not let the forges go silent.
I will not let the dreams of Nightfall die because I was too proud or too afraid to reach for something more.
That is why she is here.
